


Avoiding You (Hurts Me)

by demonkatgurl17



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Constipation, F/M, Feels, Lian Yu, M/M, Misunderstandings, Porn With Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-27
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2019-03-10 00:10:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13492728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demonkatgurl17/pseuds/demonkatgurl17
Summary: Slade misunderstands Oliver's intentions + island life = pain and drama for Oliver (even in the middle of nowhere){Slight update 1/27/18, alterations in ending}





	Avoiding You (Hurts Me)

**Author's Note:**

> Been working on this one for 4 months now, when the mood caught me. Finally presenting it for the world. Long live Quiver. Or Sladiver, w/e.  
> ***Updated 1/27/18: I made some additions at the end. I was a lil hasty in tying the ends up last night and I didn't want to leave it quite so happenstance.***

After their botched plan to extort the missile launcher, Oliver and Slade retreated back to the plane with Shado in tow, giving her a (relatively) safe place to stay.

For Oliver, the new living dynamic was more than an adjustment - he was constantly on edge in a way he hadn’t been since joining Slade. He tried to tell himself that it was just the island getting to him, making him wary of new faces, but with each passing day, Oliver still felt, well… _weird_ around her, even after Slade seemed to accept that Shado wouldn’t kill them in their sleep.  

It was strange because, from what Oliver could tell, she was attractive, smart, and a skilled fighter. In many ways, she reminded him of Laurel, which ought to have drawn Oliver to her, but instead he just felt uncomfortable when she was around.

At first, Oliver thought it was because Slade kept an eye on her most of the time, as though she was still a potential threat, but then Oliver realized that Slade wasn’t watching her as though she was dangerous. 

Slade watched her with _interest_ , like he _wanted_ her.

And it stung Oliver to see it.

 Because _he_ wanted _Slade._

That moment of realization was when Oliver could finally give his weird feeling about Shado a name.

Jealousy

He managed to hide it and be polite with Shado (the last thing they needed was to tear each other apart before Fyers could do it for them).

Recklessly hoping to regain Slade’s attention, Oliver repeatedly tried to joke and talk with the older man like he had before, when it was just the two of them, but more often than not, Slade would just glance at him, annoyed. And eventually, crestfallen, Oliver gave up.

To avoid Slade’s unimpressed looks, he found himself withdrawing from conversation, chipping in only when necessary and trying not to draw attention to himself.

In hindsight, he should have known that trying to be invisible would only make things worse.

 

*************************************************************************************

 

“Hey, kid.”

Startled, Oliver twisted around where he was kneeling on the ground, clumsily squashing his miserable excuse for a bird trap in his haste to draw out his knife in self-defense.

“Well, at least your survival instincts are improving,” Slade smirked, leaning against a tree a few meters away. “But I think there are goldfish that pay more attention to their surroundings than you.”

Flushing with embarrassment, Oliver re-sheathed his knife and turned back to the ruins of his trap. “Did you track me down just to scare the crap out of me or did you need something?” he groused over his shoulder. 

Oliver had volunteered to set and check traps in one of the farthest set areas of their established perimeter that morning. _Anything_ to get away from the light banter Slade and Shado had engaged in as they sparred. The memory of Slade’s grin at Shado’s soft laughter made Oliver chuck a broken stick into the tree line with more force than he’d meant and he knew he looked like a petulant child for it.

“We need to talk.”

Oliver froze. Those words had _never_ preceded a conversation he’d enjoyed. And he very much doubted this case would be any different since he was _literally_ stranded in Purgatory…

“If you thought my trap-making skills were that crappy, you could have said something before I walked this far out,” Oliver tried to joke as he pretended to piece his bird trap back together. He had a feeling the mess was unsalvageable and his mood was souring fast. _Fuck_ , no matter what he did lately, he wound up looking like an idiot.

Boots scuffed across the ground as Slade made his approach obvious this time, coming to a stop in front of Oliver. Squinting down at the mangled trap between them, Slade huffed out an unsatisfied sigh and crossed his arms over his chest, choosing to survey the area around them over Oliver’s head rather than look at Oliver directly.

Slade stood there silently for so long that Oliver began to seriously consider making another pathetic attempt at diffusing the tension just to break up the silence.

“We need to talk about Shado”, Slade finally ground out.

All Oliver could do was gape up at the older man while his mind went blank with panic.

_No, no, no, no, no…_

The silence between them now was obvious and painful, and he found himself grateful that Slade seemed to be looking at anything that wasn’t him because if the Australian had compared him to a goldfish before, Oliver was making a **stellar** impression of one now. “Wha-” Oliver cleared his throat and tried again. “What about her?” Oliver cringed. God, he sounded awkward even to his own ears.

“You’ve been off since we found her. Stranger than usual, I mean.” Slade looked as though he’d rather be anywhere else than here having this conversation-which, to Oliver, was crap because, if Slade didn’t want to talk about this either, then he should have just kept ignoring Oliver and spared them both the trouble.

Not that Slade had a habit of being merciful.

Oliver dropped his gaze, picking at his sticks again as he mentally scrambled to protect himself, in the end deflecting with the truth. “I’m just…With fucking up _another_ way off this island…and leaving Yao Fei with Fyers I’m…” He trailed off with a frustrated sigh, the disappointment of his failed plan still fresh and painful and constantly near the front of his mind with Shado around as a reminder. “We’ve had a lot of setbacks.” He prodded at a patch of loose dirt with the end of one of the splintered sticks.

Finally, Slade turned his dark, intense stare down at him. “Yeah, well you’ve had _weeks_ to get over it and you’re _still_ acting like a nervous foal that can’t find its goddamn footing. And you’re going to tell me _why_.”

Oliver refused to look up, wishing for the millionth time that he was anywhere but here. “Look, there’s nothing wrong with me, alright? Maybe this place has you so wound up that you’re looking for things that aren’t even there, ever consider that?” When caught in a lie, always deflect and blame someone else. That was a trick he’d gotten rather good at.

“On this island, paranoia is downright healthy. You’d be dead several times over if I was as lax as you.” Slade smirked before looking out into the forest again. “But I’m neither crazy nor stupid, kid. Something’s up with you. Something to do with Shado. And I’ll be damned if whatever it is gets any of us killed. Not on my watch. I can’t save your skin _all_ the time.”

Oliver bristled.

“Just because I haven’t been raised to be some kind of survival freak or super-spy doesn’t mean I can’t look after myself,” he spat, tossing a small dirt clod at a nearby tree. He reached for another stick to throw, then hastily pulled back his hand when Slade lashed out with his foot, viciously scattering the sad remains of Oliver’s bird trap into the surrounding bushes in a fit of temper.

Leaning down, Slade grabbed Oliver by the front of his shirt. “I’ll be the first to admit that you’ve come a long way from the useless, whining brat that first wandered into my plane,” Slade growled out softly, “But when it comes to training and skill, Fyers and his men still have you beat. And as a group is only as strong as their weakest link, whatever has _your_ jockstrap in a twist could prove fatal to _all_ of us, so either spit it out or get over it!”  

“What do you care?” Oliver hissed up at Slade. Feeling cornered and attacked, panic rose within Oliver and he clawed and tugged at Slade’s grip so he could get away from this line of questioning, but the older man wouldn’t budge. “You and Shado seem _more_ than capable of taking on Fyers on your own, what does it matter if _I_ can take them or not?”

Slade shook Oliver by his grip on the younger man’s shirt. “Is _that_ what’s bothering you?” Slade scoffed at him, lips twisted in a disdainful smirk. “Jealous that a _woman_ has you beat in just about every way?”

“No-”

“Is your masculinity so damn _fragile_ ,” Slade continued louder, cutting off Oliver’s weak protest, “that it bothers you when a woman does something better than you? Can’t wrap your head around the idea that someone can be strong and skilled and **not** have a cock between their legs?”

 _“NO,_ that’s _not_ -”

 “Or _maybe,”_ Slade shook him again, “Maybe you think that if _Shado_ can pick up your slack, then why should _you_ have to shoulder it? That what you have to offer isn’t enough to go against Fyers’s men, so why _fucking_ **bother**?” hissed the Australian, his verbal attack cutting into Oliver just as deeply as one of the man’s swords.

“Just- _please_ ,” Oliver implored brokenly, wanting the poisonous words to stop. Oliver was used to the pain of knowing he could never have Slade, but having his own guilty secret thoughts thrown at him so callously was pushing Oliver to his limits in ways his time on the island hadn’t yet brought him to.

Later, Oliver would wonder if his sanity had finally cracked, but all he _really_ knew then was that someone he wanted, someone he _cared_ about was mad at him, disappointed with him so, falling back on old habits, Oliver tried to repair the situation with the only skill set he really had.

 “ _Please,_ ” Oliver whispered, trembling from his own audacity as he slowly shuffled forward a little on his knees, bringing him very close to Slade, who was frowning down at him, confused. The older man stood stock-still until Oliver braced shaking hands on Slade’s thighs and leaned forward to tentatively nuzzle at his crotch.

And then Slade reacted, violent and swift as a viper.

Before Oliver could comprehend that Slade had moved, he found himself flat on his back from the force of Slade’s heavy fist striking his cheek.

Cradling his now throbbing face, Oliver blinked up at Slade, dazed as much from the punch as by the knife now held at his throat. A solid knee pressed into the middle of his chest, pinning him to the ground.

Then he took in Slade’s expression. And he _cowered_.

“Of all the _sniveling_ , soft-bellied moves I thought you’d ever try to pull, I never expected you to sink low enough to pull _this_ ,” Slade spat, more furious and menacing than Oliver had ever seen him. The knife was held steady as Slade shifted more of his weight onto Oliver’s chest, hampering Oliver’s breathing.

“What is it gonna take to get it through your skull that you can’t **buy** what you want in this shithole? Not with money, not with favors, and not by offering yourself like a fucking _sluzza_.”

Wheezing, Oliver cringed, having a vague idea of what that meant just from Slade’s tone.

“You want to survive?” Slade growled at him, digging the knife in just enough to make Oliver start to feel the bite of the blade. “Then you fucking well better learn to-the _hard_ way. You knuckle down, grit your teeth, and fucking _suffer_ through it like the _rest_ of us have to. No more whining and pouting. You pull your own weight and you fight your own fights-or you _die_ ,” he rasped savagely.

With that, Slade withdrew, pulling himself back to his full height with all the power and grace of a predator and stalked away from where Oliver lay on the ground, frozen and terrified.

“And if I find out you tried something like this with Shado,” Slade called over his shoulder, heading in the direction of the plane, “I’ll make what Billy did look like papercuts.”

Then he vanished into the forest as silently as he’d come.

Once Oliver could force himself to his feet, he walked. And he walked.

Not in any particular direction, just forward, Slade’s hateful words swimming through his mind over and over as Oliver relived the moment Slade pushed him away like he was some diseased, ugly _thing._

If tears occasionally streamed down his face, well….at least no one was around to see them fall.

 

*************************************************************************************

 

Eventually, Oliver dragged himself back to the plane, just when the night was beginning to settle in.

He was careful to not look anyone in the eye as he placed a bird trap he’d recovered (complete with a skinny live pheasant) in an unobtrusive part of the plane to be killed and cleaned the next day. Worried as Oliver had been that Slade would send a scathing remark his way, apparently he needn’t have bothered, since the Australian appeared content to ignore him as well.

And then Slade continued ignoring him, day after day after day.

Hurt (and still somewhat terrified), Oliver did the same. The three of them would still interact, spending hours training, hunting, tracking and evading the occasional patrol of mercenaries, but through it all, Oliver barely spoke to Slade, Slade barely spoke to Oliver, and Shado, more often than not, was left to bridge the conversation gap between them.

Shado had become Oliver’s exclusive trainer (this was never discussed with him, but Slade stopped volunteering for the job and Oliver wasn’t about to ask him about it). Water-slapping filled in the time that otherwise would have been filled with bamboo mock-fights or hand-to-hand lessons. That suited Oliver just fine, even if it did leave him feeling soggy by the end of the day.

But just because Slade wasn’t attempting to train him anymore didn’t mean Oliver was slouching.

Oliver started pushing himself harder than he ever had, trying to best his last run or his last pull-up, to hit harder and with more accuracy. Just trying to be _better_ , trying to prove that he was _more_ than just some dumb, privileged child. That he was worth relying on.

But mostly, he just wanted to prove he wasn’t the disappointment that Slade apparently thought he was.

If that meant Oliver was more withdrawn, more prone to silence and time by himself, then he supposed that was part of the deal because being the social butterfly he used to be certainly hadn’t done him any favors on the island.

 

*************************************************************************************

 

Oliver slowly exhaled, mirroring Shado’s slow, methodical movements. Alone within the safety of the plane, the two of them stretched, moved, and breathed, a peaceful silence filling their makeshift home.

When Shado had first suggested this martial art form to him-he couldn’t even remember what she called it (or pronounce it)- Oliver had shrugged it off, doubtful that it could be of any use in addition to his strength and endurance training.

Or for improving his archery, now that he’d moved past water-slapping.

But when he was sitting by himself the night before, carving into a stick with a bit of metal that had sheared off the plane, he found himself reconsidering, figuring that learning something new couldn’t hurt.

That, and part of him still wanted to put himself on Shado’s level, so that maybe Slade would admire him, too.

Slade’s indifference and near-abandonment stung Oliver deeply, and while he was trying to think of the distance as necessary to surviving on this island, that attachments would only keep him soft and get him hurt, part of him wondered if there was just something innately _wrong_ with him, that if Oliver wanted someone, he’d manage to fuck things up between them.

Back home, when things were starting to get serious with Laurel, Oliver had sailed off on his family’s boat with Sara. Sure, it wasn’t the first time he’d messed up with Laurel, but now that her sister’s death was on his hands, he doubted she would ever forgive him for his latest fuck-up.

And then there was how he’d left things with Tommy…

Oliver had known for years that both men and women caught his eye, but a problem for someone of his upbringing was that his personal life had a way of becoming public. And if billionaire-heir Oliver Queen had romps with men, it would get out. So, scared of the potential backlash, Oliver never let himself get too close with men.

Except for Tommy, who he’d been friends with since childhood. And who had grown up to be an extremely attractive man.

So it was really no surprise that, when Oliver started to panic about his relationship with Laurel, he and Tommy had managed to get blitzed-out drunk and find their way back to Tommy’s home, where Oliver had drunkenly-offered to give him head and Tommy had drunkenly-accepted, both passing out soon afterward.

And _that_ led to the morning after, when Oliver had the bright idea of waking Tommy up with another friendly blowjob. Tommy, once conscious and _sober_ , didn’t appreciate the gesture at all, and proceeded to explain to Oliver-loudly and angrily- that it was a one-time, _stupid_ thing and they would never _ever_ talk about it again.

Wounded, Oliver had gone home, cleaned himself up, and then had several rounds of makeup sex with Laurel, using the relationship he had tried to run away from to distract him from the friendship he may have just ruined.

But then Laurel had started talking about moving in together and, since Oliver couldn’t turn to Tommy, he had turned to Sara and, well…

So maybe Lian Yu was his punishment and Slade was just there to hammer the lesson home.

“Just focus on your breathing and let your thoughts drift away,” Shado murmured, her voice as calm and flowing as her movements.

“I am.” Oliver mirrored her as best he could, always half a beat behind and faltering slightly as he attempted to maneuver his body in ways that weren’t fast and violent-which was actually harder than he’d thought.

“Then why can I still hear you thinking?”

“I’m not. My _mind_ is empty. _I’m_ empty. _Everything_ is empty.” Oliver meant for it to come off as a passive brush-off, but the words rang too close to how he really felt so he took a much larger breath and exhaled it slowly through his movements, willing his stubborn thoughts to leave his mind.

This _had_ been relaxing him until Oliver’s thoughts began to wander…

“Or….we could try something else?”

“Like what?” Oliver asked, awkwardly lunging one foot forward after Shado did.

“You could tell me what’s bothering you.”

Oliver nearly fell over when he twitched with surprise.

Sometimes, when she thought he couldn’t see, Shado would look at him with concern, but she’d never been this direct about it before. He had hoped she never would. That she, like Slade, leaned towards unhealthy coping mechanisms and would just ignore the weird silent thing he and Slade had going on.

He should really stop hoping for things.

“You already know everything that’s bothering me,” he deflected. He copied Shado when she slowly raised a leg up into the air, wondering if she was _trying_ to put him as off-balance physically as he felt inside because she certainly was succeeding.

“No I don’t.” Finally, she lowered her leg then returned their initial starting position.

When Oliver had righted himself as well, she approached him, stopping well within his personal space, once more giving him the impression that she was unnerving him on purpose.

“All I know is that, now, you and Slade barely talk or look at each other, that one day he came back to the plane angry and you came back sad. What happened?” Shado asked softly, staring up at Oliver with dark, guileless eyes.

And all at once, emotion seized Oliver, tears welling in his eyes, his throat becoming tight.

Shado, the woman he’d been jealous and resentful over - just a victim of circumstance, like him - seemed to care about his state of mind, like she was genuinely _worried_ about him.

Embarrassed by his emotional reaction and ashamed of how he’d thought of her, Oliver dropped his gaze to the ground.

“I-”

Words refused to pass the sudden lump in his throat. He swallowed hard, trying to push past it, to push some of it out, because suddenly it all seemed too much to keep inside and if he didn’t get some of it off his chest, he’d explode from the pain of it.

“I did something,” Oliver finally choked out, his voice a trembling whisper. “Well, _tried_ to do something. And Slade…didn’t like it. Got mad and said things. He was already kind of mad at me, but what I did just made it worse and….and now it’s like he can’t stand me at all. And I wish I could take back what I did because I….I don’t know how to salvage things between us. He doesn’t forgive easily...”

Shado frowned, sympathy and confusion lining her face. “What did you do?” she asked softly.

Oliver just shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.” Not like he could change things now anyway. Repeating it would only make her disgusted by him too. “But I’m worried that all the training and fighting and trying to survive won’t be enough to get us out of here alive. That **I** won’t be enough. That we’ll fail and it’ll be my fault because I fucked up. What I’ve done…It’s thrown everyone off, we all know it and I-”

His throat closed tight on his words. He shut his eyes against the tears that were already starting to escape, but still they came and came even faster when he felt gentle hands on his face wiping them away.

Those same gentle hands tugged his head down, so down he followed, resting his head heavily on Shado’s shoulder. He stood within her loose embrace, his arms limp at his sides, and allowed her to ease his misery into something bearable as he cried softly into her shirt.

Eventually, he withdrew a little, feeling exhausted but lighter than he had in weeks. It had been so long since he had willingly let go and just cried, the harsh reality of the island leaving precious little time for tears.

Hesitantly, Oliver met her eyes and thanked her.

Shado smiled softly at him, smoothing back his ragged mop of hair. Then she raised herself up onto her toes and pressed her lips to his.

Instinct had him kissing back, gently dragging his lips over hers. But when his mind caught up with the fact that these weren’t the plush, full lips he’d found himself staring at and dreaming about for months, he pulled away as kindly as he could, knowing full well how much rejection hurt.

Shado looked away, embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“ _No_ , it’s-you’re _fine_. In Purgatory, we need all the comfort we can get,” he smiled sadly, trying to convey with his expression if not in words that he hadn’t meant to hurt her too. Because _of_ _course_ he had hurt her.

Because somehow, she had gotten close to him too.

She gave a small smile in return, but he could tell she was still a little hurt, so when she left soon after to do a perimeter check, Oliver said nothing and stayed in the plane, wondering at his ability to fuck up so spectacularly without putting forth hardly any effort at all.

 

*************************************************************************************

 

Probably the harshest reality of having no first-world amenities was that good hygiene was a luxury. And if Oliver had been used to anything, it was luxury, and so his pride forced him to try to clean himself as often as he could stand it.

That’s why Oliver - after a grueling run that left him feeling and smelling disgusting even to his own nose - had found his way to the nearby river and washed both himself and his clothes as best he could, rushing through a freezing cold bath, doing his best to rinse the grime, sweat, and god only knew what off himself and out of his clothes.

Dressed in his spare (stolen) clothes, Oliver carefully made his way back to the plane, the wadded up “washed” outfit he’d worn on the boat soaking his shirt through his backpack. 

A faint warm breeze wound through the sunlit clearing around the plane and it made Oliver feel drowsy, tired and clean (well, clean _er_ ) as he was. Oliver supposed that was why, when he went inside, he stopped dead in his tracks and stared, dumbstruck by the sight of a sweaty, shirtless Australian raising and lowering himself from a metal bar, his defined torso on full display.

“If you’re just going to stand around, do it somewhere else. You’re keeping the breeze out.”

Embarrassed to be caught staring, Oliver moved off to a spare corner of the fuselage to hang his clothes up to dry.

 _Stupid Slade and his stupid attractive body_ , he mentally cursed at himself.

It wasn’t his fault Slade was easy on the eyes. Even after that horrible day in the forest, he still caught himself admiring the older man. Oliver’s life would have been _so_ much easier if Slade were ugly.

And stupid.

And lacked a sense of humor.

But it was an established fact that the universe hated him, so of course Oliver would be marooned on an unforgiving island filled mercenaries, and teamed up with two sexy companions - both of whom were off-limits in different ways.

Fuck the universe.

“You should have said you were off to do some washing. Would have sent more along with you.”

The sound of something heavy hitting the floor echoed faintly off what was left of the walls, but Oliver didn’t look to turn to look, instead staying silent and fussing over the drape of his shirt, trying to avoid it creasing too badly. Not that it mattered.

Apparently today was a “Talking Day”.

He never really knew what to think when Slade decided to remember that he existed. Mostly because, by the time Oliver would get his bearings and start to act as he used to around the older man, Slade would do a 180° and ignore him once more.

And the cycle would repeat, over and over.

Just when Oliver thought they were getting back to normal, Slade would grow cold again, and each time Oliver was left wondering what he’d done wrong.

Or maybe Slade just kept forgetting about that day in the forest and his icy demeanor would momentarily slip…

“No matter how many times you rinse out that shirt, kid, the color will never be the same.”

Oliver could feel Slade eyeing him from where he stood a few meters away and sighed. “I know. But just because we have to live like animals, doesn’t mean we have to smell like them.”

“I agree,” Shado said, walking into the plane with a brace of skinned rabbits in her hands, hanging by their ears.

“Are you taking _his_ side then?” Slade turned away from Oliver to follow her to the fire pit and Oliver felt a pang in his chest as, just like that, he became invisible.

“It’s not just about smelling better.” Shado started deftly skewering the rabbits onto a metal rod to cook them on. “We could just as easily die of disease and infection here. The only tools we have to prevent that are fire and hygiene.” She glanced at Slade with a smirk. “Looks like there _is_ something he’s better at than you.”

“Maybe he’s just afraid of water,” Oliver quipped before he could stop himself and internally cringed at the scowl sent his way.

Slade growled something under his breath before stalking out of the plane and didn’t return until Shado had deemed the rabbits cooked and safe to eat.

Slade’s clothes were damp.

Oliver bit back a smirk.

“Feel better?” Shado asked him, carefully tearing of a strip of gamey meat and popping it into her mouth.

“Yeah,” Slade drawled sarcastically at her, accepting some of the rabbit Shado pushed towards him. “Walking about in wet clothes and getting my jewels rubbed raw is something I look _forward_ to,” he griped.

“Well if Fyers’s men see you walking bowlegged, maybe they’ll be so impressed by how big your balls must be that we can just pick our way through them without a fight,” Oliver snickered around his own mouthful of rabbit.

“If we want to pick them off like that, then we should just have **you** run naked through Fyers’s camp. The sun bouncing off your pale arse would make them go blind,” Slade tossed back with toothy grin.

“Think a lot about things bouncing off my ass?” Oliver mouthed off thoughtlessly, his guard down as he ate and enjoyed Slade’s playful attention again. Being clean, fed, and content was about as close to happy as you could get on the island, and he hadn’t been this happy in a while.

Then again, how long could happiness last when Oliver ruined it himself?

For a long moment Slade just stared at him, then the man visibly shut down, the affection leaving his eyes and a scowl marring his handsome face. “What I think about is how piss-poor your aim is with a bow after nearly a week of practice. The only way you’re likely to hit your target is if the arrow ricochets off something else first.”

And just like that: hot to cold, and it was like a slap to Oliver’s face.

Oliver dropped his gaze to the fire they were all still sitting around and mechanically finished eating, nearly oblivious to Shado and Slade arguing over his progress as he silently nursed his wounded pride.

Later, when Slade tossed a long shaft of bamboo to Shado for their own advanced training session, Oliver collected his bow and arrows and set off into the forest again.

If his presence and skill were so badly thought of, then he’d leave until he found a way to fix that.

 

*************************************************************************************

 

“You should go talk to him,” Shado said, gesturing with her makeshift staff in the direction in which Oliver had walked away from the plane.

“And why is that?” Slade ground out tersely, on edge as much from Oliver’s disappearance into the forest ( _again_ ) as he was from the mock-battle with Shado.

“Because whatever is going on between you two is CLEARLY upsetting you both.”

_Clack!_

 “Because you can’t afford to keep ignoring or attacking him since you can’t _avoid_ each other.”

  _Clack!_

“Because the two of you NOT talking is going to get someone _killed_ ,” she stressed with a third loud _clack_ of her staff.

Slade moved swiftly, but barely managed to block each strike, his concentration fraying as part of him agreed with her.

It only served to piss him off even more.

He swung hard at her, making her leap away and give him some much needed space, if only so he could think. “I don’t see how _talking about our feelings_ -,” he hissed derisively, “-is necessary. What we NEED to do-,” he skipped closer, swinging his staff in a fast arc that Shado smoothly danced away from, “-is stop Fyers and get off this fucking island. We can _talk_ when we are clear of this hellhole.”

“And what if we can’t do _any_ of that because you both refuse to solve your problems like adults?” Shado tossed back. “Whatever it is - because _I_ don’t even know what’s wrong - it needs to be dealt with before it gets in the way the next time-”

“If I thought a simple chat would fix it, I’d have done it, alright?” he snarled. Slade’s temper was rising fast and, if he wasn’t careful, he could lose control and follow through with the more deadly side of his training. “Not after he-” Slade bit down on his tongue to cut himself off, pissed that he’d said even that much.

Tossing his staff away, he stalked off to the bar he used for chin-ups and began the mind-numbing up-down-up process, hoping to work away some of his anger and resentment before he did something he would regret.

“After what?” Shado came to a stop in front of him, her arms crossed over her chest, unwilling to let the subject drop. “What could he have possibly done to make you hate him?”

“I don’t hate him.” The automatic response shocked Slade, but then again it was true. He _didn’t_ hate the kid, but the hurt and anger he felt towards Oliver right now still felt too much like hate for the difference to matter to him.

“That doesn’t answer my-”

“ _He tried to blow me_.” The words were out of Slade’s mouth before he could stop them and, furious with himself, with Oliver, with the whole situation, he dropped from the bar and got into Shado’s face, a cruel part of him pleased that he’d shocked her into silence.

“He never told about himself before he got here did he? About what kind of person he used to be?”

Slade snorted derisively when he didn’t get an answer.

“I didn’t think so…Well, he comes from money. Anything he needed back at home, he could just buy it. Only, here, you can’t do that. You only have yourself. And when I laid into him a couple weeks back, he decided throwing himself at me was how he could get what he wanted and he’s been pouting ever since because I didn’t _bend over backwards_ like he’s used to people doing for him.”

Slade moved around Shado to sprawl in one of the few chairs still bolted in place, taking long swigs from a water cup while she stood mulling over his confession. 

“So…” Shado planted herself back in front of him. “So he tried to - how did you put it? - ‘blow’ you, and you got mad at him?” Slade just stared off into the plane. “So…are you homophobic, not into guys, or just not into Oliver?” That, at least, got him to look at her.

“Did you not understand me?” he bit out incredulously. “He tried to manipulate me-”

“No.”

The word seemed to echo inside the plane, even though Shado had spoken it quite softly. Maybe it was the conviction she said it with, lacing it with a power of its own that seemed to rock him back into silence.

“’ _No?’_ ” Slade repeated dully. “What do you mean-”

“I mean that I don’t think he was trying to manipulate you.” Shado sighed, seeing pieces click into place in her mind. She hoped she was right about this or things were going to get messier than they already were.

“And what makes you think that?” Slade’s intense brown eyes narrowed at her, trying to judge both her words and her intent. He had refused to look any deeper into the kid’s actions and (without a concrete reason) he wasn’t going to allow himself the luxury of assuming anything else.

“Because I’ve seen how he looks at you.”

And with that, Shado crossed over to the bar, intent on doing some chin-ups of her own, leaving Slade to brood in silence.

 

*************************************************************************************

 

The makeshift arrow sailed through the air, embedding its head into a tree with a satisfying ‘ _thunk’_.

Now if only it had landed in the tree Oliver had aimed for...

Growling out his frustration under his breath, Oliver retrieved his wayward arrow and continued walking, every now and then stopping when he’d calmed enough to nock an arrow, pull it back, and let it fly.

He’d already lost count of his attempts.

Normally, Shado made him stand in place and aim again and again for the same target, but he was too restless, too angry for that. He needed to move and vent and hurt something. Luckily, no mercenary patrols had stumbled upon him yet because he was making less and less of an effort to hide his trail through the forest.

And how fucked up was it that you even had to _do_ that? Back home, the most effort Oliver ever had to make was ensure that he didn’t overdose while partying or knock anyone up. Going from socialite to survivalist wasn’t going to happen at a drop of a hat. What the hell did Slade expect from him? And becoming a proficient archer within a _week?_ With _homemade_ bow and arrows? What a fucking joke. Stupid Slade could take his stupid expectations and bipolar tendencies and shove them up his ass. Maybe it would knock the stick up there loose.

Oliver paused again both to nock yet another arrow and to catch his breath, having hiked up a fairly large hill. Pulling the cool air of the island deep inside him then slowly releasing it, Oliver raised the bow and took aim.

And then he slowly lowered it, staring past his intended target to a tree that stood further up ahead at the top of what looked like another hill.

It was white.

Oliver couldn’t say why he felt drawn to it, but he found himself walking, thighs burning from yet another steep climb.

When he got closer, he saw that it was a massive dead tree, completely devoid of bark and leaves, skeletal and hauntingly beautiful.

Staring up at the white branches brought to his mind how much carving practice he did at night lately while trying to keep from watching Slade.

 

  _Whittling_ -his mind helpfully supplied the technical term, sounding oddly enough like Laurel when she was amusedly explaining something to Oliver (how she ever thought him charming when everyone else seemed to think he was an idiot, Oliver didn’t know).

 Brushing off everyone else’s thoughts and expectations of him for the moment, Oliver set about gathering bits of fallen limbs, ignoring the issue of how to carry his collection back as he made a fair sized pile. He might be able to make something worthwhile out of some of it and, right now, Oliver was grasping desperately for any distraction from the gnawing shame and anger still following him from the plane.

Pile made, he glanced around past the tree, realizing for the first time that what he'd mistaken for a hill top was actually the ledge of a fairly steep bluff, high enough to let him see overtop more trees and out to the gray sea beyond, the earth falling away just past the hulking dead mass of the tree.

 _Hell never looked so peaceful_ , he thought, gazing blankly at the view.

Seeing how cut off he was from the rest of the world didn't change anything and Oliver found himself unmoved by it all. Frankly, unless they found a way off the island, he doubted very much that he'd feel anything but dread about an island again.

And then curiosity got the better of him and he tried to crane his head over and see what lay at the bottom of the bluff.

He wasn't so close to the edge that he was in danger of falling, but from where he stood, he couldn't really see much at all past the first ten meters or so down. Moving closer to the edge, hand touching the far side of the dead tree trunk for stability, Oliver slowly leaned over and looked down past its thick anchoring roots, ready to spring away to safety should the ground beneath his feet start to give way. He liked to think he wasn’t so much of a coward anymore, but seeing massive rocks jutting up from the ground below made him feel uneasy, as though the pull of gravity was somehow stronger here, making this reckless act feel _far_ more dangerous.

Oliver didn't get very long to peer down the side of the bluff when, without warning, he felt himself moving backwards.

Crying out, he flailed his arms and landed safely on the ground, but now several feet away from the cliff edge, blinking up in confusion at a familiar Australian.

Brows drawn in a severe line over dark glaring eyes, Slade bared his teeth and stepped closer to Oliver, who was shaking with residual terror. "Just what the _fuck_ do you think you're doing?!" Slade snarled.

Still reeling from being yanked back from a goddamn cliff, Oliver could barely lean up onto his elbows and gape up at Slade, hazily taking in the way the man’s fists were balled up at his sides as he loomed menacingly over Oliver, as though Slade wanted nothing more than to start hitting him.

"I- "

"You selfish, _egotistic_ BRAT!" Slade thundered, his shoulders shaking with the force of his anger. "What, you think just because you've been hurt a few times in real world that you can just _off_ yourself and no one will NOTICE?!”

“I-”

“You think just because I wouldn’t let you have your way a few weeks ago, because I wouldn’t _bend_ to your _whims_ \- like every _other_ person in your life of luxury back home - that it’s FINE for you to just waste it all and dive off a _cliff_ because you got your _feelings_ hurt?!” Slade spat, his lip curling with distain as he moved a step closer, a predator stalking its helpless prey. “After _everything_ you’ve survived, after _months_ of training your whining _,_ pampered hide, you want to give up because you find out this isn’t some fucking DISNEY MOVIE?!”

Oliver scrambled to catch up from the shock of thinking he was falling to his death and Slade’s sudden appearance. Having a sense of déjà vu, Oliver raised a hand out between Slade and himself, as though it could somehow ward off the anger and hurtful words being thrown at him from out of nowhere again.

Hadn’t he been yelled at enough weeks ago?

“I….I wasn’t going to kill myself Slade,” Oliver said, sounding weak and defeated to even his own ears.

Though, he _had_ thought about it.

Of course he had, _more_ than once because, without rescue, the only other way off the island was death, whether by someone else’s hand or by his own. Or, well, by disease or starvation. But anytime Oliver had started to entertain the idea of suicide - even when he had been held and tortured by Fyers - all he could think about was the family and friends he had back in Starling City who he’d never see again and would never know what happened to him and his father if he died on Lian Yu.

And then Oliver would shy away from thoughts of suicide for a while before it resurfaced in his traitorous mind once again because what _else_ was there to do on this island but fight, eat, sleep, shit, and fucking **think**?

“I _wasn’t_ ,” Oliver repeated, and this time his voice was stronger, the words backed with conviction. After all, if he committed suicide, he’d never see Slade again either. He wasn’t sure if that meant he was too cowardly to kill himself or too weak to truly cut himself off from the Australian, no matter that he had become a source of pain.

Oliver was never great at denying himself something he wanted.

Slade stared down at him still as a statue, hardly moving but for breathing. Oliver’s eyes threatened to water from staring right back, but he didn’t dare take his eyes off Slade, trying to will the older man to believe him.

 _And_ not kick the crap out of him.

Seconds inched by, the tension painfully dragging them out until _finally_ Slade tilted his head a little to the side, dark eyes narrowed in suspicion. “You _weren’t?_ ”

It was obvious Slade didn’t quite believe him, but Oliver sagged backwards a little, relieved that (for now) the freight train that was Slade Wilson’s temper appeared to have slowed down just enough for Oliver to avoid getting completely overrun by it.  

“ _NO_ , Slade, I wasn’t.” Haphazardly, Oliver waved his raised arm in what he thought was the direction of his collection of pale tree limbs. “I was gathering up some wood-,” never mind that Oliver hadn’t set out with that objective at all, “-and I got caught up in looking at the view and I just…” Oliver trailed off and looked over to the edge he’d stood on not moments before. “I was just curious to see what was down there. I’ve never stood on a cliff before. It, ah…wasn’t my kind of recreation,” he said with a tiny self-deprecating laugh, his lips twisting into half a smirk as he remembered just how he’d preferred to play and relax back in Starling City.

Oliver briefly wondered if he could ever drink and party as carelessly as he had before, after everything he’d been through on the island.

 _If_ he ever got home, of course.

Silence continued to drag out between them so, nervously glancing between Slade and the edge, Oliver cleared his throat and shifted in his uncomfortable sprawl on the ground. “Um….could you maybe…y’know…continue yelling at me somewhere else?” He was becoming wary of the drop as well, and he very much didn’t like how Slade was positioned between himself and the edge, just a few steps away from empty air. It was one thing for Oliver to end up dead from his own stupidity, but if Slade got killed because of it…

Slade followed when Oliver haltingly rose to his feet, moving away from the white tree and the drop beyond it. Relief flooded through Oliver as he turned back to the green forest, but that relief was short-lived.

“Weeks ago, why did you….why did you do that….that _thing_ you did?”

Oliver froze in his tracks, his back to the older man.

First Shado, now Slade? When had this become Dr. Phil's Island?

“I thought we agreed not to talk about it.” Telling Slade the truth would only make matters worse between them and the last thing he wanted was to lose the other man completely.

“We did no such thing, kid.”

Panic rising, Oliver forced himself to move. He went over to his little stack of wood, squatting down to choose the best pieces that he could easily carry so he could run the fuck away from this mess. _Again._ “I thought it was implied with when you started giving me the silent treatment’,” he called over his shoulder.

Yeah, he was bitter. Oliver fucked up last time, he knew it, hated it, but he accepted that he'd fucked up and he wasn't going to leave himself open to that again.

Undeterred, Slade followed, coming to stand behind Oliver. “We need to talk about this.”

 “Why?”

“Because Shado thinks we need to learn how to play _nice_ together. Hell, kid, she even _defended_ you when I told her about all this-”

“ _You told her?!”_ Oliver ground out incredulously, nearly falling over when he turned to give Slade a scathing look. “Why the FUCK would you tell _her?”_

Now he would never be able to look her in the eye again. Oliver was tempted to throw himself over the cliff and end his embarrassment.

“Well I didn’t have much choice, seeing as I’m stranded on a godforsaken island and everyone _else_ is trying to kill me,” Slade drawled sarcastically, yanking Oliver upright by his arm, making deadwood fall about their feet. “Shado’s right, kid. The more divided we are, the less of a chance we have of getting off this island. And I _do_ want off this island, so we’re going to have this out. Starting with what your deal is with Shado.” 

“Are you serious?” Oliver tried to pull free only to be shaken for his trouble, his other arm grabbed when he made a half-hearted swing at Slade. 

“I am dead serious, kid. You did just about _everything_ to avoid talking about your problem with her last time ‘round, so we’ll start over. No more excuses. Is it prejudice? Don’t like her race?” 

“What? NO! I don't care that she's Chinese.”

“Are you in love with her? 

“ _No_!” Oliver bit out. “And why would you ask me if I _like_ her if you think I _hate_ her?” 

Slade snorted derisively, almost to himself. “Psychology. There really is a fine line between love and hate. Some people react negatively to things they're attracted to.”

“You learn that at Australian spy school?” Oliver needled, trying to get Slade's temper going and maybe ditch this line of questioning because it was going nowhere good. If Slade found out, it wouldn’t matter that Oliver had survived this long because Slade would kill him.

“Yeah, kid, I learned that at Australian spy school,” Slade sneered back at him. “Not that it takes training to notice that you haven't looked at that picture of your girlfriend in a while. Maybe she's been replaced.”

 Oliver jerked back harder than he had before, but Slade's grip on him was like iron. “That's not-”

“It's natural. Shado’s an attractive young woman-“  

“I know-”

“-and you're trapped on an island with her-”

“But that’s not-” 

“-it's understandable that you developed feelings-”

“IT'S NOT HER!”

The forest sounds seemed to rise up around them, loud and oppressive in the silence that followed Oliver's outburst, but then _everything_ felt oppressive to Oliver - his own rapid breathing, the frantic pounding of his heartbeat in his ears, the harsh grip on his arms keeping him from running away from the anger and confusion on the older man’s face, the incessant chatter of the birds and insects around them -

“What's not her?”

Oliver lowered his gaze to the relative safety of Slade's body armor, not wanting to see the disgust Oliver was sure was coming. “It's…It's not her that I like,” he whispered, his voice cracking slightly as he forced out them out. He hadn’t meant to say it, but he was getting _tired_ of making up excuses and avoiding himself, mostly because there was nowhere to run from his thoughts and feelings, and he just wanted them _out_.

Not that he felt any better having finally brought the truth to light. His heart was beating rabbit-fast in his chest with fear at what he’d done.

“You- but that picture you carry around….those stories you told me, about the parties and the _girls_ -” Slade stammered. “Was that all just lies to-”

“I like _both_ ,” Oliver interrupted softly in a defeated whisper. What had he done? Like Slade said, this wasn’t a Disney movie, there was no way this went well for him.

Silence and more silence.

Eventually, he couldn't stand it so he tried to backpedal, maybe salvage this conversation yet. “Look, we don't have to talk about this. We can just forget it and keep moving forward like this never happened.”

 _More_ silence.

“But if you’re worried about me getting in the way of you being with Shado, don’t be. It’s…you’re good to go. You’re fine.” He nervously cleared his throat, hating how his eyes burned from holding in tears of frustration. It would _break_ him to watch Slade find happiness with Shado, but the older man deserved happiness.

And it would be a fitting punishment for Oliver.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Slade rasped out in low voice.

Without seeing his expression, Oliver wasn’t sure how the older man was feeling, but cowardice had seized him and he kept his eyes down.

“Because….” _Because I was afraid you’d gut the queer bunking beside you?_ “I didn’t want you to hate me more that you already do.” Oliver whispered around the lump that had swollen up in his throat and he hated it, hated how emotional he was getting because this conversation shouldn't have happened _in the first place_. They could have gone on just fine ignoring each other and what Oliver had done, but that was before his mouth betrayed him. He'd be lucky if Slade didn't just toss him off the cliff and be done with him.

“I don't hate you."

That surprised Oliver enough to sneak a glance at Slade's face. The older man looked almost…hesitant, but Oliver _had_ to be wrong because he had never seen Slade look unsure of himself.

“Back then in the forest that day, when you…when you… _why_ did you-?”

Honestly, Oliver wasn't sure what he had intended to do back then, either. Slade had pushed him away before he could find out. “I, um…”

Slade ducked his dead down, forcing Oliver to look him in the eye. “I need to know, kid.”  

“I-” Oliver swallowed roughly. He made a pathetic attempt to pull free then gave up, sagging a little in defeat. “I don’t know,” he whispered, sticking with what he knew. “I wasn’t thinking clearly…when I…” He gestured towards Slade’s waist, though the grip on his arm mostly made it unrecognizable. “I just sort of… _acted_.”

“Because you thought you needed to?”

“No, I _wanted_ to- I mean I wanted…. I wanted…” Oliver could feel himself flush bright red with embarrassment and he looked down, up, away - just wherever wasn’t at Slade because, _fuck_ , he’d just admitted to the man’s face that he wanted to suck him off, and it was _so_ much more embarrassing than just saying he had a crush on the guy.

“Look- Slade, I’m sorry. I messed up and it freaked you out and it’s made _everything_ weird, and I’m _sorry_. I’m serious, we don’t have to talk about this, we can just forget it and focus on finding a way off this island and you and Shado can- ”

“So you didn’t-” Slade cut him off. “You didn’t feel _pressured_ into trying to-”

“No! I’ve never felt forced to do that for anyone,” Oliver blurted out, taken aback that Slade seemed to be hung up on how consenting he had been. “I mean, training, getting up at insane hours, _skinning_ weird animals - _those_ kinds of things I’ve felt forced to do.”

That earned a low bark of laughter out of Slade.

Gently, Oliver pulled away. This time, Slade let him go and Oliver wasn’t sure if he was happy or sad about it, having never been in physical contact with Slade for so long before.

That only happened in his dreams.

To mask his conflicting emotions, Oliver squatted back down to regather the pieces he’d dropped, reaching about at random because he just didn’t care about anything right now with how _gutted_ he felt. There was a reason he didn’t talk about his feelings - they took too much out of him.

“Women are easier to love.” Slade softly rasped above Oliver, sounding almost sad. “It’s easier to get around the defenses in their hearts…than it is with a man.”

Oliver froze, his head bowed, hand clenching tightly around dead, brittle bark, crumbling it. “What-?”

“Shado is an exceptional woman,” Oliver cringed slightly at hearing her praise, part of him still a slave to his jealousy. “Any man would be lucky to have her. But she’s not the one who’s had my attention. She’s been the distraction...from what I thought I couldn’t have.”

Disbelief swept in and Oliver let everything in his arms go as he looked up at Slade, needing to confirm that he wasn’t just hearing what he wanted to hear, that this wasn’t another _massive_ misunderstanding. “What- What did you think you couldn’t have?” He needed this spelled out for him because if he dared hope for the impossible, it would crush him beyond anything Fyers could ever do to him.

Slade leaned back against a nearby tree trunk, his dark, sad eyes fixed on Oliver. “You.”

This was a joke. This _had_ to be a joke.

If it _was_ a joke, Oliver was going to be _pissed._

“ _’Me’_?’ What do you mean, ‘ _me’?_ You can’t be- I mean _you_ can’t-”

“Can’t what?” Slade was starting to look peeved and that usually meant no one would be happy for very long.

But then Oliver wasn’t exactly happy either right now. He barked out a mirthless laugh. “Really? _You_ , Mr. Badass ASIS Agent, like guys? Riiiiight… You’ve only been Shado’s… _shadow_ …like since we _found_ her, how could I have _possibly_ missed how gay you are?” he said sarcastically.

“You’re stereotyping me?” Slade looked unimpressed. “This, coming from a silver-spoon playboy? That’s rich. Like you’re the only bisexual to think it’s easier to pretend to be straight,” Slade threw back, crossing his arms defensively across his chest.

“Fine. Okay, so you’re bi. I can buy that. What I _don’t_ believe is you saying you _like_ me when you’ve done a _damn_ good job convincing me otherwise.” And that was what was pissing Oliver off so much right now, Slade claiming to like Oliver but had still treated him like crap.

At that, Slade glanced away and was silent for a moment. “It was easier… _safer_ …to push you away,” he finally sighed, meeting Oliver’s angry stare.

“SAFER?! How-”

“You depend on me,” Slade wearily explained, cutting off Oliver’s outburst. ”You’ve exceeded my expectations in your training, but you still need me. I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want you to involve yourself in something you didn’t want out of some sort of obligation. Just look what you’ve done trying to repay your debt to Yao Fe. I might be a killer, but I’m no rapist,” Slade growled, his revulsion obvious. He scanned the trees around them, but Oliver was sure Slade just wanted a reason to not look at him.

“ _That’s_ why you got mad when I…because you thought…” Oliver trailed off, understanding hitting him hard.

Oliver had crushed on Slade for months and, given _any_ indication Slade wanted him, he would have happily fallen to his knees for the man. But he could see how suspicious Slade would have been about his motives and consent. Before washing up on Lian Yu, Oliver would never have put his own neck on the line for another person; now, after sacrificing his freedom and personal safety for those he barely knew, he couldn’t say whether or not Slade was wrong about him. Suddenly the older man’s brush-offs were making a lot more sense.

But understanding didn’t make them sting any less.

“I'm not a child, Slade. Just because I'm stuck in the middle of nowhere doesn't mean I have no say in who I sleep with.” Oliver shifted his weight from one knee to the other, trying to relieve some of the ache from kneeling down for so long. He sighed under his breath. How the hell was he supposed to make Slade believe Oliver's feelings were anything but a manipulation? “The question is, now that you know what I want… what do _you_ want?”

Silence descended upon them once again as Slade mulled the question around.

“I’m not entirely sure that what I want is something I should have,” he finally said.

“Why not? We could die here.” Slade looked away from him, but undeterred, Oliver hastily stood up, drawing the other man's attention back. ”There's no guarantee that we'll get home. We both know that. So why can't we have something that isn't pain and death?” 

“You don't know what you're asking for. What, you think we can just hold hands and braid each other’s hair in between patrols? Or maybe, deep down, Fyers is a hopeless romantic and he'll get us off this rock personally if he finds us staring into each other’s eyes,” Slade sneered. “Being soft on each other won't make things easier, kid. It'll just make it hurt more when the real pain comes.”

“If we're not together and you get hurt or die, I’m not gonna hurt me any less,” Oliver said softly, trying to make Slade understand. “We're trapped on an island where every _thing_ and every _one_ is trying to kill us. We spend day after day running and hiding just to stay alive. You've already spent weeks pushing me away….. Aren't you tired of running away yet? Because _I_ am."

Oliver stepped closer, slowly in case Slade were to react on instinct and attack him. "Just… if you could maybe not hit me for this, that would be nice, okay?"

Carefully stepping into the Australian’s personal space, Oliver floundered for a moment, unsure of what to do with his hands, intimidated by Slade’s unfailingly intense stare. He'd never done this with a man without alcohol to steel his spine and here he was, cold-stone sober, trying to make a move on the most intimidating man he'd ever met. Slade licked his lips and Oliver couldn't help how his gaze fixed on them, full and wet and part of his obsession for countless weeks now.

He wanted to taste them, to know how they felt against his.

Oliver gave in, diving forward to press his lips to Slade’s.

Eyes fluttering closed, he whimpered as desperation hit him out of nowhere. Oliver curled his fingers into Slade’s body armor as he fast deepened the kiss, nipping and sucking at Slade’s lips in a frenzy but it was brought short by Slade, who - instead of stopping the kiss - cupped Oliver's face in his hands and forced their pace into something slower and more intense, but nonetheless deep.

“Easy, kid,” Slade pulled away long enough rasp before kissing Oliver deep and slow again.

Oliver couldn't take it, he felt like he would burn up or explode if he didn't have more.

Moving closer, he pressed his body to Slade’s, groaning into the kiss when their hard-ons caught against each other. Rolling his hips, Oliver sucked hard on Slade’s tongue when the older man bucked into the grind, a wave of desire drowning out all thoughts of anything that wasn't Slade.

For all the time Slade had spent trying to talk Oliver down, he didn't seem to be taking his own advice. Though he’d tried to slow things down, Slade was clearly losing patience as well, matching Oliver in passion as they kissed and pressed against each other, their hands roving in blind exploration of the others’ body.

Wanting to feel skin, Oliver carefully began removing Slade’s body armor, pausing each time he felt Slade tense up, worried the other man had changed his mind, but Slade would nip teasingly at Oliver's lip and Oliver would keep going, until finally his fingertips could brush freely over Slade’s bare chest. He stroked the sprinkling of coarse hair, admiring a body so like his own but unlike anything he was familiar with.

So different from the soft curves of a woman's body…

“Like what you see?” Slade asked, teeth grazing against Oliver's ear to regain his attention when Oliver had pulled away to stare.

Oliver was quiet for a moment, fighting through the fog in his head. All he wanted to do was touch… It took some effort for him to string words together to answer the other man.

“ _Christ_ , you're beautiful…”

In his periphery, Oliver could tell that comment didn't sit well with Slade, the man pulling a face at him, so before he could get pushed away or knocked on his ass for being sentimental, Oliver lapped at the dark peak of a nipple, suckling it when Slade pressed closer. Thumbing and pinching at the other one, Oliver toyed with hard nubs until Slade’s breathing we went ragged, his hips eagerly twitching forward.

Oliver's wandering free hand brushed across the line of Slade's belt and suddenly this wasn't enough for him anymore.

He gave Slade's nipple a last parting lick.

“May I?” Oliver ran his hands over the older man’s waistline with intent, thumbing hard enough at the belt buckle to make Slade's breath catch. A sharp jerk of the head in assent and Oliver moved quickly, opening and tugging down Slade’s pants leaving underwear in place to teasingly hide what Oliver wanted most.

Leaning against a tree, clothes half-hanging off him, Slade made quite the sight.

Oliver felt his knees go weak just looking at him so he gave in, falling onto them, bringing him on level with the bulge of Slade's cock.

Caught up in desire, Oliver grasped Slade by the hips and nuzzled at the scratchy cloth stretched over steel hardness. Oliver felt a hand slip into his hair, grasping it and holding him in place. He inhaled sharply at the sensation, the scent of Slade’s musk and arousal filling his lungs and shorting out his brain.

His fantasies were no match for this very real moment, the _touchtastesmell_ too visceral and he prayed that Slade wouldn't change his mind about letting Oliver this close and push him away, that this wouldn't be the only time Oliver would get to experience this because fantasy wouldn't cut it anymore.

“You always work this slow kid?"

Oliver continued to nuzzle, even kissed and licked at the bulge of Slade’s cock. "Only when I really want to savor it" he said, finally sliding the boxers down Slade’s thighs and Oliver wasn't disappointed with the wait. Dark caramel skin sheathed a thick uncircumcised cock and Oliver couldn't resist wrapping a hand around it, giving it a slow, firm pump.

"Never seen someone else’s cock before?" Slade breathed in shakily, petting through Oliver’s messy hair.

"Definitely the first uncut I’ve seen.” He teased the tip of a finger between the foreskin and crown, absolutely fascinated. “But yeah, I’ve only done this once before,” Oliver admitted, blushing slightly from embarrassment. "We were both _beyond_ drunk and he let me suck him off. I could hardly see straight, can't remember much of it…” That was one of the things about that night Oliver regretted, but having Slade here now did a lot to make up for it. At least _he_ seemed to appreciate what Oliver was doing.

"So this is your first time for this, more or less."

Something in Slade’s voice made Oliver look away from the prize in his hand.

The soft, sad look on Slade’s face melted something within him.

"There's no one else I'd rather it be with,” Oliver said.

And it was true. Oliver might have loved Tommy as a friend or maybe more, but their time together was just two kids having fun and making mistakes. It would never have led to anything more. This thing with Slade though, it scared him, felt somehow more real than anything else he’d felt about another person. Maybe it was this island, where everything was visceral and eye opening, but as much as he loved and cared for Laurel, his heart had never ached for someone like it ached for Slade.

And Oliver wanted to prove that to him.

His mouth watering from what he was going to do, Oliver swallowed nervously, trying to relax, then took the tip into his mouth and, twice in quick succession, bobbed all the way down to the base, tongue pressing along the underside on his way up and off Slade’s cock.

Oliver coughed, “Did I do that right?” his voice slightly hoarse.

Rough hands squeezed his shoulders. "THAT was not a move for someone fresh off the boat," Slade choked out, his hips twitching as Oliver absently ran a hand over spit-slicked skin.

Oliver felt a swell of pride at having finally impressed the man. "Just because I haven't really had someone to practice on, doesn't mean I haven't practiced at all. Let's just say I have a modest toy collection back home." And oh how he'd enjoyed it. Well, both collections: the toys he'd used with others and the special ones he saved for himself, when he wanted things he never allowed himself to ask his female partners for.

Slade gave him a toothy grin, pleased. “Fuck, kid.” He panted down at Oliver, staring at him with such intensity that Oliver nearly squirmed. “I almost couldn’t stop myself from fucking your throat. ‘Did I do it right’…” Slade parroted back faintly in disbelief, shaking his head.

The hair-petting resumed and, bolstered by Slade’s apparent approval of his skill, Oliver retook Slade into his mouth, this time allowing himself to get lost in the feel of steel-hardness and the bumps of veins, in the taste of skin, in the earthy muskiness of Slade himself.

He didn’t even realize that he was whining until Slade made soft shushing noises and babbled soothing nonsense at him in between his own gasps of pleasure.  Oliver pulled off and lapped at the underside of Slade in quick, long stripes as he held the man by the thick root of him, eager to taste him.

“Fuck, the _mouth_ on you kid,” Slade groaned. His hips twitched as Slade forced himself to keep still when all he wanted to do was shove back into Oliver’s mouth and fuck it until he came. Getting a firm, two-hand grip on Oliver’s skull, Slade repositioned himself against Oliver’s bruising lips, taking control as he steadily pushed in, trying to not to go too deep as he took his pleasure in Oliver’s mouth.

Fog filled Oliver’s mind, consuming him with desire as he felt his world narrow until all he could think about was the taste and feel of Slade’s thick cock sliding over his tongue, sucking it as best he could while keeping his jaw stretched open, trying to stay open and pliant for Slade’s pleasure. Rolling Slade’s heavy sack in his hand, Oliver let his free hand stroke over his own straining cock, still trapped in the confines of his stolen clothes. He whimpered, rolling his hips as his cock pulsed, a mix of pain and pleasure urging him to suck harder at Slade while touching himself through his pants.

Slade moaned  softly as he thrust with increasing urgency, at times getting too deep, making Oliver choke around him, but Oliver would quickly recover, licking and sucking as Slade continued to use Oliver’s mouth, fucking it until he thrust as deep as he could, stifling a tortured groan as he came hard down the kid’s throat. Slade held his head firmly in place, forcing Oliver to swallow around him, the fluttering muscles grasping at the tip of his cock, pulling the last of his load out and into Oliver’s throat.

When the haze of Slade’s orgasm lifted somewhat, Slade found Oliver still suckling at his softening, oversensitive cock, breathing heavily through his nose as his hand rested over the dampening material of his fly.

Gently, he pushed Oliver off, petting through his sweaty blond hair. “Sorry kid,” Slade rasped out, his breathing slightly labored. “I didn’t mean to be that rough with you.”

“Y’r joking, right?” Oliver slurred hoarsely, coughing a little as he forced the words out of his battered throat. He shifted uncomfortably on the ground. “I, uh…think I liked that a little too much.” He winced at the slickness in his pants, knowing that all too soon it would start getting sticky and more uncomfortable than it already was.

But _fuck_ it had been worth it.

His hair was gently stroked by shaking hands. Oliver looked up, melting a little inside at the soft, remorseful look on Slade’s face. “Seri-” He cut off with a cough, swallowing another down his sore throat. “Seriously, I’m fine. I only wish I’d been naked when I came. Got any tissues you’ve been holding out on us?”

“Sorry kid, fresh out,” Slade said, his lips twisting in a wry smile, tucking himself back into his underwear. “But I meant it. I shouldn’t have been so rough with you. I’ve been rough with you for a while now. And this place…I don’t know how much of an excuse it is…” He sighed, scanning the surrounding forest with a grimace.

“I know some ways you can make it up to me?” Oliver worried for a moment that he was being too bold with Slade, but there was warmth in Slade’s eyes as he met Oliver’s and it made him smile like he hadn’t in weeks.

“You’re not getting out of training that easily, kid.” Slade smirked, pulling the rest of his clothes back into place. He slid down to sit against the tree, carefully manhandling Oliver between his legs to lean back against his chest and hooking his chin over Oliver’s shoulder. “We still need to talk about this, kid.”

“I know.” Oliver slumped back, letting the heat from Slade’s body seep into him and soothe the last of his own tremors. “We will.”

No more hiding.

He knew that once their afterglow faded they would have to make the long, dangerous trek back to the plane, and probably have a difficult conversation along the way.

Oliver was okay with that.

Because the callused hand stroking over his belly and the gentle nuzzling just behind his ear made Oliver think that life on the island was going to be filled with more than just pain and suffering after all.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and criticisms welcome. Follow at collared-fantasies.tumblr.com


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